Friday, May 30, 2008

Standing amidst graves at a funeral,Only a few shades were predominantly visible;Green, grey, dark granite and white marble.That apart, the faded faces of people;

Everyone flaunted a somber expression,Which came by default for such an occasion.Kids excited ran over tombstones and around crucifixes.Little did they worry or care about the dead and departed;

All was calm as they lowered the coffin,A handful of soil everybody parted as a send off token.Teardrops and grieving hearts accompanied the last hymn.And with a word of prayer they finally bid farewell,

That very moment surfaced a ‘Why?’ And the thunder roared,Yet on my ears the question echoed louder and the rumble was a whisper.The rain rushed down and invaded the moment;I felt it gently embrace me from all over.

I looked up to the skiesBut couldn’t really open my eyes.Was it the rain or a way He displayed His love?To say that He too wept for the sake of His beloved.

This was the word He sowed in my soul,That “When calamity comes, the wicked are brought down,but even in death the righteous have a refuge’.So here I am to tell you "Never let go HOPE".

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

It’s been sometime since you came here.You might have thought I’ll return in a while and just forget.Finally, you’ve made it, all the way to this place, todayJust to see what this Scribbler’s got to say.

Perhaps, you can come back some other timeAnd read this scribble in leisure again.You do have other priorities in life.So return whenever you want to indulge, I’ll wait.

It can be tomorrow or even the day after,You still have loads of time on hand to lavishly spend.‘There’s always another time’ is the usual excuse.Hopefully, I’ll pray, by then the world doesn’t come to an end.

Or let me suggest something,Ten more minutes, try not to do anything.Play lazy once again but the moment seems never ending,After that you might resume your reading.

Isn’t that the way you feel most of the time,Putting things off more often thinking later on it can be done.“One day I’ll visit my favourite holiday destination.Someday I’ll walk in the early morning rain”.

”Sleep under a star lit roof.And quench my thirst in the new dawn’s dew.In a while, I’ll write to my loved one something special,Or one fine day I’ll pen my own book and claim my share of fame”.

So many things to do but so little time,Wish we had more than hours 24 is what we always complain.Well, if that’s the case with you that’s not something new,I know no cure either cos I suffer from the same illness too.

Some call it lethargy; some say the devil rules the idle mind.A few say it’s the laid back attitude.But I say it’s nothing too serious nor is it incurable,We just suffer from the ‘some other time syndrome’.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

I listen to love songs no more,Is it a result of my broken heart?I try hard but can’t come up with scribbles on love;Perhaps, I should just quit and move on.

She used to welcome the dawn in my company,With her hands all over me, we spent time in harmony;Words used to flow like perennial rivers before,Her every touch used to teach me a new word.

It’s been really long since she even sat by me,Over the table we used to lock gazes for hours.Sipping coffee from a big porcelain mug,She smiled, frowned, mused and cried.

We saw the world in each other’s eyes,Toured across borders and uncharted terrains;At times; we even traversed beyondAnd embarked on a journey to outer space.

What happened to her suddenly I really know not,Her single touch can spark things up and it’ll all restart.Together, refreshing memories we’ll spend the nights.With gazes locked we’ll suspend the world on pause.

She cherished her memories in my heart,Retrieved and spent wee hours of the dark;Browsing every moment one by oneAnd flipping them page by page.

Today, she enjoys another’s company.Sleek, dark, smart and excels in all.Wherever she goes, he's by her side.She ditched this PC for a Laptop.

Friday, May 16, 2008

Just a few steps behind her, he stealthily followed,Without even giving her a clue, he played her shadow.Every step she took or any move she made,He was with her every moment, every hour.

Visits to the neighbourhood Church or the nearest mall,Be it the family doctor or the tennis club.The A to Z super market or the designer store,He just knew it all, almost all her whereabouts.

Every night they were on either sides of the spyglass,He wasn’t really too far from sight, just on the opposite block.But on her, was glued, his one hawk’s eye.And the other spied relentlessly on the world by her side.

This happened for a few weeks and he knew she was clean,Told her husband that she couldn’t be accused of infidelity.Believing the spy, the Billionaire husband, would seldom do,Doubted him instead and asked if she’d bribed him to say so too.

Shaking his head in shame he wore a grim face,Looking down upon the crippled husband on the wheel chair;He pitied for his fate and his beautiful dame.And wondered how she could be so true to this docile demon.

Crippled wasn’t just his physic but also his thoughts in head.He was crippled by assumptions and inferiority all the way.Throwing his pay cheque into the dust bin, the spy, walked away,He just didn’t want to be a part of this noxious game.

Next week, just a few steps behind, he followed,Now he was on a new client’s mission;Before he knew his target took a turn into an old bookstore;Picking up that day’s newspaper he followed her as she moved forth.

Accidentally, he read the headlines and guilt stricken he just stood;It read that the crippled Billionaire’s wife was no more,Her body was found, the previous night, lifeless on the seashore.He just turned around and reached for the spyglass in his pocket,Threw it into the nearby thrash can and ruefully walked away.

Monday, May 12, 2008

With a violin she sat playing a tune,By the window looking down the street;Those strings wept in accord, and voiced her frown.Not a single tear rolled as her eyes were sealed.

Drowned deep in despair, the reason only she knew,The empty street just echoed with no accompaniment to her tune.A tune so mesmerizing, it could have put the world to sleep,Even the pesky neighbour or foe didn’t bother to disrupt.

The night was as dark as kohl,Not a single star was out there to accompany her in grief.In slumber and dreams the rest of the world was lost,Here she was making melody to find some peace.

A click startled her and she stopped playing,The door of her room opened and he slowly stepped in.Looking at him she dropped the bow and violin,Rushed towards him and into his arms she gave in.

He swept her off her feet and took her to bed,She cried bitterly with her head on his shoulder.He made her lie down and wiped her tears.Dimmed the lamp by the bed and kissed her eyes to sleep.

Seeing her fast asleep he tiptoed to the exit,Leaving her alone on the bed he slept crashed on the nearby couch.Gently, she opened her eyes and followed him after a few minutes,Saw him sleeping peacefully she reclined on a chair by his side.

He looked real tired after working all day real hard,Now they were gradually turning strangers to the concept called love.He was a part of the rat race and this had torn them apart.He had found a new partner and profession played that part.

She got back to her room pulled the door behind,Sat by the window with remorse and regret,Picked up her violin and bow, and resumed to play real soft.She too had found a new companion and her passion is what she sought.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

With a brand new pencil and sharpener in handI stare at a blank sheet of paper as I begin to mend.The dark as night lead pierces its head out of the wood.Leaving curled up shavings behind as it leaps through.

What do I converge into words?Today, my thoughts are so very few.My mind’s as clean as a virgin canvas,Not even a dot to kick-start a scribble new.

Doodling around and scribbling like always. The piece of lead slowly begins to move. Starting of with some straight and oblique lines; Followed by circles and curves, yet it feels no good.

The rear end of the pencil now gets into action,Erasing some creations of its poles-apart foe;Rubbing its head remorsefully with regret, It silently cleans up the mess the opponent had made.

Once again the creator resumesNot surprised that the remains are so few.Even if it were to start from scratch,The excitement never ends nor does it turn passive.

So here I go again trying to confide, Almost everything that’s left to corrode in my brain. This is the therapy for Scribbler’s block I guess; Now it’s time to use the pencil’s rear end, once again.

Saturday, May 03, 2008

Let me unwind and set out on my journey, And tread on paths uncharted and go that extra mile. But before that I’ll break the spine Of this demon called routine.Feed my wanderlust and please its appetite

Even if monotony puts its hands together And kneels down pleading for mercyI shall show none for death is what it shall see.Adventure is what I eagerly seek,That’s away from cubicles, deadlines and meetings;

Listening to the telegraphic conversations of crickets,Deriving sense out of the brook’s babble, Sleeping amidst walls studded with fireflies,Under a roof with stars clinging onto the sky’s tiles,I’ll wake up in the morn pushing aside the blanket of pallid mist.

The maps will be burnt down to ashesAnd the compass would be thrown into deep abyss. While the feet will be the shadow My heart would lead its way. Following it just about everywhere along the serene landscapes;

Like the river I’ll flow and wandering I’ll go,Just the way it knows not which path to roll. But all it knows is it has an ocean to meet.With eyes set on the horizon afar it flows, It never turns around or even rests for seconds few.

Similarly, I see the crimson horizon,Where the sky kisses the wide open green;I hope that my destiny's somewhere out there,And whatever happens I just won't retreat.I'll keep on rolling even if I've to stumble and limp in pain;

My hope won’t die neither will it retire, I won’t ever give up; I’m in pursuit of my destiny. Cos I believe out there awaits His promise land, For which I’ll have to struggle a lil but in it lies eternal glory. And over there I’ll find a soul who'll accompany me till eternity.

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Amit Charles B. aka Scribbler is an authentic Bangalorean (since 1982), who found and got hitched to his Muse recently. He now owns a scribble pad, a camera, a casual wardrobe and a detuned guitar with corroding strings.
And those of you who are interested in my work rather than my Apollo 13-attempt-at-a-funny- bio, flip the pages of my Scribble Pad.